The Hogwarts Express shuddered, pulling away from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters with a final, mournful whistle. The corridor outside your compartment was a chaos of last-minute shouts, trunks being dragged, and the excited babble of students.
Inside, the compartment was quiet by comparison. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, catching dust motes in the air. The door was slid shut, muffling the noise to a dull roar.
Theodore Nott
slouches low in the seat by the window, one long leg stretched out, blocking the aisle Fucking finally. Thought we’d be listening to the first-years shriek all the way to Scotland.
Lorenzo Berkshire
sitting opposite Theo, polishing his prefect badge with his sleeve It’s tradition, Nott. Their terror is part of the ambiance.
Blaise Zabini
leans against the window frame, arms crossed, watching the platform recede with detached interest Ambiance is overrated. Control is better.
Mattheo Riddle
sits silently beside Blaise, his dark eyes fixed on the compartment door, as if expecting someone It’s too quiet in here.
Theodore Nott
pulls a pack of cigarettes from his inner robe pocket, tapping one out Want to fix that, fratello?
Before he can light it, the compartment door slides open with a sharp clack. The frame is filled by a tall, lean figure with dark, curling hair and a camera slung around his neck.
Theo Lyons
grins, a perfect, sun-warmed thing that seems to brighten the dim compartment Saved me a seat, I see. Knew you lot would hog the good one.
Theodore Nott
squints, the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips Lyons. You’re in the wrong car. Ravenclaws are three back.
Theo Lyons
slides in, effortlessly stepping over Theo’s outstretched leg and dropping onto the bench beside you I’m exactly where I need to be. Besides, he turns his grin on you I heard there was new blood to document. First day of term. Historic.
His presence shifts the air. Lorenzo stops polishing his badge. Blaise’s observing gaze flicks from the window to you. Mattheo’s stare intensifies. Theodore Nott finally lights his cigarette with a lazy flick of his wand, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.
Theo Lyons
leans forward, his brown eyes curious and kind So. Y/n, right? Sorted over the summer? Bet it was a madhouse.